


Pas-de-Calais: Summer

by esteven



Series: Pas-de-Calais [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Javert has long hair, Javert is not repressed, M/M, Old Married Couple, Pining, Post-Seine fix-it, Summer Holidays, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Valjean does not feel guilty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 00:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7912969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteven/pseuds/esteven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Family summer holidays near Montreuil-sur-Mer<br/>Nothing much happens - more or less -</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valjean pines because Javert is still in Paris  
> 

“Papa, are you certain you would not rather stay with us until Javert joins you next Monday?” Cosette tilted her head and shielded her eyes against the afternoon sun “It would be lovely to have you with us.”  


“Papy, say yes!” Valjean’s two small grand-children leaned out of the coach window.  


“Our house at the Delhomel’s near Étaples is large enough.” Marius joined in.  


Valjean handed the large key of this summer house to the coachman who had just unloaded two worn trunks and leather valises from the back of the carriage. They watched as he carried that luggage across a short stone bridge into the low building, leaving them in its hall.  


After a moment Valjean remarked. “I know you all mean well, but what if Javert comes earlier than he thought, and finds the house empty?” He shook his head. “It needs to be aired and made welcoming.”  


“I would be astonished if Madame Delhomel, my friend Elisabeth, had not already asked Madame Richard to do so.” Cosette tried again.  


“Ma petite, we will not be on opposing sides of France. It cannot be more than an hour away by coach, two at most, so we can surely see each other at any time.” Valjean shook his head gently at his daughter.  


“It is very quiet and lonely around here.” Marius sided with Cosette.  


"So nobody will be bothering about one or two old men.” Valjean smiled. “And there is the farm just across the path.”  


The young woman looked fondly up at her husband before she faced her father again. “Remember that you will have fresh milk, butter, cheese and eggs from Monsieur and Madame Richard, the farmers. Dear Élisabeth saw to it.” Cosette nodded to herself. “I asked her to do so when we first made arrangements for these summer holidays. And Papa,” she indicated the coachman who had returned from the house, “Antoine will be here tomorrow around noon.”  


“Then everything will be well. Now, you must be off or you will never make it to your house before sunset.” Valjean embraced his daughter firmly, and equally firmly pressed Marius’ hand. He would not say it openly, but he longed to be on his own with his thoughts. Soon after, affectionate waves from large and small white handkerchiefs disappeared around the corner towards La Caloterie , the nearest hamlet.  


After one final glance along the shrub-lined path, Valjean stepped across the drain towards the house. Antoine had left the key in the front outside lock. Valjean pulled it out and closed the door behind him. He hung up his coat and loosened his cravat before turning towards the kitchen. From its doorway he watched specks of dust dance in low shafts of light that filtered in through the window.  


Moments later Valjean looked at his fingers dusty from the long voyage. He opened his cuffs and rolled them up to mid-forearm. At the sink he washed his hands and wrists under the kitchen pump. The fresh water ran pleasantly cool over his skin into the basin under it. To him it was still a luxury that he no longer had to carry water in from the outside.  


Valjean dried his hands on a towel by the sink. He slowly turned towards the table. Around a spray of wildflowers, someone, likely Mme Richard, had arranged a small basket of apples and grapes, a cheese dish, little pots of honey and jam, a jug of milk, another basket, this time with eggs and a covered pichet . A round loaf of bread was wrapped in a tea towel with simple plates and bowls by its side.  


He smoothed a wrinkle out of the modest tablecloth before he slid onto the bench at the table. He folded his hands for a short prayer in thanks for the abundance on the table. Even after many decades he remembered how his sister and his nephews and nieces had often gone to sleep, starving. Food was not something he would ever take for granted.  


Valjean was exhausted and wanted nothing more than sleep. He knew that he needed his wits about him in conversations not far from Montreuil-sur-Mer where he had once been M Madeleine, the mayor, and for this he needed to rest. The neighbours would just have to wait until tomorrow.  


_You will not go to bed without eating something, Jean Valjean._ The deep voice resonating in his head was so real that he looked towards the door, only to chortle in embarrassment at his reaction moments later. After hardly four days apart, he already missed Javert.  


Maybe he should heed those stern words? There was no wine, so he would have a sip of the local cider. Some cheese and a handful of grapes would go a long way, and he would not wake up from a growling stomach.  


Valjean unfolded his simple Laguiole to cut a slice from the hard cheese. He chewed deliberately, alternating between thin wedges of it and grapes, leaving the bread untouched. It would have been too much. After having finished his bowl of cider, he wiped the blade clean and carefully folded his knife. He covered the food and drink, and deposited the simple plate and the bowl in the sink, letting a gush of water from the kitchen pump run over them.  


Valjean locked the front door for the night, then hefted his jacket, his trunk and travel bag to carry them into his –large – bedroom. Tomorrow, he would take Javert’s luggage into the smaller bedroom across the narrow hallway. It would keep later tongues from wagging.  


He lit the candle at his bedside and drew the curtains before he went about his ablutions. After he had donned his nightshirt, Valjean puffed up his pillow at the bed’s head-board and pulled the blankets up to his waist. He reached for his pocket bible, only to realize that his glasses were still in his jacket. Sighing, he threw the covers aside and padded to the hook by the bedroom door.  


Returning to his bed, Valjean settled himself against the comfortable pillow before he unfolded his glasses. He thumbed through the little book for a suitable chapter, but nothing seemed to suit his reflections. Then he recalled certain lines and nearly smote his brow. Searching with renewed resolution, he finally found Psalm 23 and murmured it to himself.  
_L’Éternel est mon berger_  
_Je ne manquerai de rien_  
_Il me fait reposer dans de verts pâturages,_  
_Il me dirige près des eaux paisibles._  
_Il restaure mon âme_  


After he had thus given thanks for his and his family’s safe journey, he prayed for Javert’s well-being, then browsed further to the familiar Song of Songs.  


‘Qu’il me baise des baisers de sa bouche! Car son amour vaut mieux que le vin’ . Valjean felt a blush rise to his cheeks because these words reminded him how Javert had stolen a furtive kiss just before they had parted ways. He remembered the firmness of Javert’s embrace, had returned it in equal measure. With his thumb he brushed at the corner of his mouth as if he could still feel soft lips against it.  


Valjean put the small book to the side, blew out the candle. He slid down in his bed, not before pushing his pillow into shape again. Turning on his side, he watched the pale moonlight filter through a crack in the curtains, painting tall shadows into a corner of the room. Briefly he imagined his inspector getting ready for bed. He sighed. Today was Wednesday; Javert would be arriving Monday. Almost five days to go. He pulled the blankets over his shoulders. His vision slowly blurred as he closed his eyes, exhausted from the long coach journey from Paris.

He woke to sunshine, feeling that the night had brought him closer to Javert. He lay awake for a few moments to savour the peace and quiet of the morning. He sighed because he had to get dressed and walk to the farm across the Chemin du Marais first. Breakfast would have to wait. He wished to thank the farmer’s wife for her kind help. Being familiar with the ways farmers and villagers thought, he knew he had to volunteer some information about himself and Javert if he wanted to keep strangers from poking their noses into affairs that were none of their concern. 

 

“Madame Richard?” Valjean knocked at the frame of a large open door to announce his arrival.  


“Monsieur Fauchelevent?” A short rotund woman in plain dress and long apron emerged from the kitchen to the side. A strand of brown hair had escaped her dark cap. She bobbed a curtsey, smiling. “So glad to know that you made it safely to La Madelaine. Do you know that many years ago a businessman with the same name as yours lived in Montreuil? ” She looked at him questioningly.  


Valjean nodded slowly, biding his time to think of a good explanation. “Is that so? I recall that my father talked about one of his brothers having lived near Arras. They hardly kept in contact, so it could well be. A distant cousin, you know?” She dipped her head, so his explanation had obviously satisfied her. He continued, “My dear children and I arrived yesterday afternoon, so forgive me for not having waited upon you already.”  


Mme Richard preened a bit at being addressed like gentry. “You must have been worn out by your long coach journey.” She did not add ‘considering your age’, but those sentiments were audible behind her words.  


Though Valjean did not mind – after all, he was nearing seventy –, he changed the subject nevertheless. “That cider on my kitchen table, it is wonderfully fresh. Might I beg another pichet at some stage as a friend will be joining me soon? We are looking forward to the tranquillity of this lovely countryside and intend to walk a lot.” He pointed out good-naturedly, “You can imagine how noisy a city like Paris is.”  


“The peace around here will do you good.” She beamed at him. “But do come in, and sit down. You must think me a bad hostess.” She gestured towards one of the chairs at her kitchen table. “The cider is our own, and you are welcome to it.” She inclined her head, confiding in him, “My Jean-François knows how to choose the best apples.”  


“Its quality is remarkable.” Valjean’s words seemed to be well-received. He scrutinized the farmer’s wife. She appeared trustworthy to him, so he ventured a question. “Tell me, Madame Richard, would you know someone to come and clean the house twice a week? It will not be for nothing, I assure you.” He pulled out his purse and counted several coins onto the table.  


He was not keen on having strangers about in his summer lodgings, but it would have been unfavourably noticed had he not inquired. Men were not thought to keep a house clean and in order. He looked down briefly to hide his amusement. Mme Richard would certainly never have met anyone like his Javert.  


The woman regarded the francs before she wiped her hands on her apron and leaned towards him with certain complacency. “I will do it myself, M. Fauchelevent. Just let me know when it would be most convenient.”  


“You are taking a weight off my mind.” Valjean looked her in the eye. “How about Saturdays and Tuesdays, in the mornings?”  


“Will between nine and ten be convenient?” She added gravely. “My morning chores here must come first.”  


It did not take them long to settle the conditions for Mme Richard’s work and for regular deliveries of food.  


Valjean departed, carrying with him a basket with a bottle of vin du pays, a square of home-made cheese, a couple of saucissons , a jar of duck rillettes as well as seasonal vegetables and fruit. Together with what had been on the table, the summer house larder would be well-filled to last him for days. Silently he also thanked Cosette for having packed coffee, tea, sugar and salt in his travelling bag.  


“Madame Delhomel has arranged for a horse and carriage for you. The cabriolet is already in your shed. In the afternoon my eldest will settle one of our horses in there.” Mme Richard called after Valjean who waved his agreement.

While a large pot of his favourite tisane stewed, he roasted a slice of bread in a pan. With a few droplets of honey it was everything he could ask for. He sipped slowly from his mug. Moments later, he checked his pocket watch and pushed himself up. He had to get more suitably dressed, after all it was warm and sunny, meaning that a lighter suit was called for since the Pontmercy coach would arrive soon.

~~~~~~~~~~

On M Richard’s suggestion Valjean went for a walk in the woods near the village on Friday. He followed a narrow path which led him along ponds that held water from draining the swamp. After a while it opened into a view of the meandering Canche . He followed its towpath towards a wooden bridge across a bend in the river. After having pushed back his hat, he shaded his eyes against the brilliant sun. There was hardly a cloud in the sky even though he was not far from the sea. White sails shivered and blurred down-stream.  


A lonely bird-of prey – too high up to recognize it without doubt – drew its circles in the sky in search of food. The faint toc-toc of a woodpecker sounded from the copse near the farmhouse on the other side of the river. Wildflowers littered the grass left and right of the path. Together with the still dark green of the trees behind him and across the water, they made for countryside worth contemplating again and again.  


Valjean pulled out his watch to check the length of his walk. It felt like roughly an hour, but that might have been due to the heat that had slowed him down. He found that less than forty minutes had passed since setting out. He looked around. There was so much for the children to discover! If the coach were to set the Pontmercys down on the other side of the wooden bridge, they could stroll along the waterway, and on arrival at the summer house he would have everything ready for a garden picnic. They would love it, he was certain.  


He resolved to draw a map and write down descriptions for Cosette and Marius to give to them tomorrow, when he joined them and his grand-children near the shallow waters of the baie . He had already let Mme Richard know that he would be spending the next two days at Étaples. The coach would pick him up around noon, so he had better return to pack his evening bag.  


Valjean wiped his kerchief across his brow and folded his hands behind his back as he started walking back to the house, thinking that a large glass of M Richard’s cider mixed with water would be welcome. He stopped in his tracks when he re-entered the woodlands, because tomorrow was Saturday, then only two more nights and then – Javert. He smiled to himself at the thought of many days stretching out before them when they would take their ease. There would be not only days but also balmy summer nights.  


Several years ago he had thought it impossible to find warmth in his heart for anyone but Cosette. Then he found it for another man; not just any man, but Javert. And had it returned in equal measure. Now Valjean could no longer imagine a time without him, without his embrace in the night, without a strong heart beating under his hand. ‘Que sa main gauche soit sous ma tête, Et que sa droite m`embrasse! ‘ He smiled to himself.  


Sometimes Valjean doubted that he was deserving of this much happiness and love. But he had soon come to cherish the nights when Javert found ways to disabuse him of those morose thoughts. Heat spread from Valjean’s neck at the memory of some of his inspector’s ministrations, and he needed the rest of his walk to find a semblance of control over his wayward thoughts, feeling all kinds of fool, but no longer feeling guilty about them.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Notes:  


To Chrissy24601 for encouragement and handholding.  


My thanks to Groucha and Iberiandoctor for beta, suggestions and valued remarks.  


More Notes:  


1\. [Étaples](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89taples)  
2\. La Caloterie/La Calotterie is a hamlet nr La Madelaine-sous-Montreuil  
3\. Pichet (site in French) or Flagon  
4\. Montreuil-sur-Mer or Montreuil-Pas-de-Calais  
5\. Laguiole  
6\. Valjean reads aloud the first part of psalm 23 "L'Éternel est mon Berger – The Lord is My Shepherd“  
_The Lord is my shepherd;_  
_I shall not want._  
_He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:_  
_He leadeth me beside the still waters._  
_He restoreth my soul_  
7\. Valjean recalls or reads part of The Song of Songs:  
_Let him give me the kisses of his mouth: for his love is better than wine._  
The Song of Songs bilingual  
8\. Chemin du Marais (transl: Swamp Path/Way) is a narrow road/path in La Madelaine-sous-Montreuil, a village, nowadays known for Alexandre Gauthier’s _La Grenouillère,_ a top-end restaurant.  
9\. Saucissons (thick, dry cured sausage)  
10\. Rilettes (preparation of meat similar to a pâté  
11\. Cabriolet (light horse-drawn vehicle with one horse)  
12\. La Canche (River near Montreuil-sur-Mer)  
13\. La Baie de Canche (Canche Bay) the site is in French  
14\. From The Song of Songs: _His left hand is under my head, and his right hand is round about me._  



	2. Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valjean still pines for his inspector, but he keeps himself occupied

After a lovely weekend, Valjean let himself into the summer house by the pale light of the moon. The days had passed as if in a dream; Cosette and Marius had been attentive to his every need. The children had been lively, the service at Saint-Michel uplifting, but now he needed time for contemplation. After lunch on Saturday, Cosette had given him a letter from Paris addressed to _M Fauchelevent with M le baron Pontmercy at La Maison Delhomel_ , which was the source of his sadness.

With the children around and his respects to be paid to M and Mme Delhomel, he had only had time to scan it quickly. Since then it had been an effort to pull himself together. No inspector on Monday. Work detaining him, Javert would not arrive for another week.

Valjean readied himself for bed, tired out by the weekend’s activities. He had begged the beginning of the week off when Cosette had asked him to stay a few days longer. He had explained that much as he loved her, Marius and the children, his mind needed quiet and time for contemplation.

He leaned against the head-board, then unfolded his glasses to read Javert’s letter thoroughly. It was as he remembered: the inspector’s strategic and detailed plan against a band of burglars had paid off handsomely. He was in good health, though weary and frustrated by the paperwork that would take more time than had been estimated. The lines were business-like, but Javert’s feelings had shone through briefly when he ended the letter with _Tendrement_. This did not change the fact that Valjean would be without his companion for another eight days.

Before Valjean stretched out to sleep, he gave thanks for the day and for Javert’s safety. Again, he thumbed his worn pocket bible for solace. All he found was ‘Sur ma couche, pendant les nuits, J’ai cherché celui que mon coeur aime; Je l’ai cherché, et je ne l’ai point trouvé...’ A perfect description of his thoughts.

It was past midnight, and he still tossed and turned to find a comfortable sleeping position. Tired as he was, sleep eluded him, but he knew he could not blame his sleeplessness on the heat of the night. In the end he put on his faded morning gown and went to make himself some hot milk laced with a smidgen of honey. Maybe that would help him calm his spirits. It had always worked with little Cosette when she had had one of her numerous nightmares.

He took his mug into the garden where he sat down on a bench that had been built around a gnarled black alder close to the house. Several sips of hot milk spread warmth through his body as he relaxed against the tree, pulling his gown more firmly across his legs. Dawn had not arrived yet, and the wide expanse of a clear night sky arched over him. The narrow drains along the boundaries with the neighbouring sites were turned into glistening bands of silver.

Valjean was once more humbled by the Lord’s creation when he looked up to the stars. Like multiple pinpricks in black velvet they spilt their cold light across clumps of trees and the garden green. Javert had called them sentinels, and that is what they were. In silence they stood guard in the firmament.

Valjean looked for the Plough just as Javert had taught him. It was the only constellation he remembered and could spot with certainty.

One last swallow, and then he cradled the empty, still-warm mug in his hands. No matter what he did, his thoughts always returned to Javert. Ever since that June night years ago they had not been apart for more than two, three days at the most, whenever Javert’s duties demanded it.

Valjean heaved a sigh. Missing someone as much as he missed his companion must be connected to love. While he loved Cosette and her family, he no longer yearned to be with them constantly. Through Cosette he had learned to feel affection for others, had learned a parent’s love and devotion, but despite this he never forgot that he was Cosette’s father and now the grand-father to her children. That was as it should be.

With Javert it was different. They were both virgins when it came to being in love. Discovering their feelings had been frightening at first. There were detours, walks into blind alleys. Despairing of each other, there had been times when they had both been on the brink of giving up, but in the end, they had persevered.

Every day had brought something new; thus once he and Javert had accepted their differences, they were able to be as young lovers together. Not in years, but in their hearts. This awareness would remain wondrous.

“Lord, let me find him safe in my arms.” This was all Valjean wanted. At the moment, the days simply stretched out in front of him. But if he took one at a time, it might not be so bad.

 _You martyr!_ A familiar baritone. Caustic words, softened by affection. Javert rarely had patience with Valjean depreciating himself.

Suddenly, Valjean’s dark mood lifted: what was one more week without against four weeks with Javert in this quiet countryside away from the bustle of Paris?

Valjean worried at his lip. He had the next two days to himself, and until now, horse and cabriolet had remained in the shed. He decided to make use of them in the next couple of days to refresh his memory of the countryside and find places he and Javert might enjoy.

He gave a final look at the stars and returned to his bedroom. With his mind made up, he sank into the mattress, pulled up the blankets and turned onto his side before sleep claimed him.

It was Wednesday when he saw his beloved children again. By that time he had looked at the market in Enocq where he bought a flagon of vegetable oil from a local farmer. Hopefully, the woman behind the stall had not noticed his faint blush when he had tasted it, and felt its soft consistence between his fingers.

He also found a narrow route to a beach not far from Cucq . Nobody for miles, the beach and dunes were of the finest sand. The sun, the sea and a hamper of food would be perfect ingredients for a quiet day out. Decision made, he devoted his time to his grandchildren.

“Papy, Papy, look!” His granddaughter bowled her hoop along the path, trying to keep it in a straight line.

“Ma mie, take care where you are going.” Valjean tried to caution her, but off she went, like a whirlwind, her whoops of joy trailing behind her.

“Papy.” His still pudgy grandson toddled towards him and tried to embrace Valjean’s knees before he stumbled and fell on his padded bottom. Valjean had been too late to react. All he could do now was to pick him up. At least his grandson had injured no more than his pride. The little chap was easily consoled when Valjean first blew on a tiny finger held up for inspection and then kissed it.  


~~~~~~~~~~

“Au clair de la lune, on n’y voit qu’un peu. On chercha la plume, on chercha du feu. ” Cosette’s voice drifted down the stairs. Valjean imagined her sitting between two cots, smoothing blankets left and right.

He turned to Marius. “The road through the swamps is uncertain and the ride to La Madelaine is longer by night. I would take it kindly if Antoine readied the horses. I am feeling tired.” He smiled at his son-in-law. “I am no longer as young as I used to be.”

Marius rang for a servant. “While we are waiting for my coachman, we will have something to eat. Surely you will not leave hungry, and you will certainly wish to bid Cosette good-night.”

“By all means, yes.” Valjean agreed. “But then it must be adieu because I would like to be at the house at a still reasonable time.”

Marius looked as if he would have made to offer a bedroom to Valjean. But by now the young Baron had learnt not to press his father-in-law when his mind was made up. Instead, Marius held his tongue and sent for Antoine, and told the other servant to lay on a repast.

~~~~~~~~~~

The day after, Valjean was harnessing the horse, a gentle brown mare called Maronne, when a little chubby girl rushed into the large shed to the side of his summer house. He had already met Mme Richard’s youngest when she had helped her mother clean the rooms.

“M’sieur Fauchelevent.” She curtseyed. “Maman -" Marie-Thérèse caught her breath. “Maman has made a large pot of small marinated andouilles. She made too many, and -” She wiped her nose on a corner of her apron, “- she says, too much for us.” She pushed at a tiny pebble with a toe. “If it...” The girl scrunched up her face in concentration, twisting a strand of her brown hair around a finger. “If it - pleases you - to have some,” she finished in a rush, “then you would be most welcome.”

Valjean saw through Mme Richard’s little ruse. He was aware that she had decided the quiet, elderly gentleman across the road needed to eat properly. Considering her and M Richard’s girth, Valjean saw why she would think so. Nevertheless, andouilles had been a dish he had come to appreciate while having been mayor – he briefly looked in the direction of Montreuil – and he nodded.

“Tell your mother that I would very much like a couple for tonight. They will indeed make a fine meal. Please thank her for thinking of me.” Valjean was finished with horse and cabriolet. He smiled down at the little girl. “Will you please close the shed behind me? I will be at my children’s in Étaples until the late afternoon.”

Marie-Thérèse looked up at him wide-eyed. It was visible on her face that she had never been there, and for her, the town might as well have been on the other side of the moon. Valjean smiled before he climbed into the cabriolet, and waved at her when Maronne trotted out. He heard the shed’s door clang shut and was soon on his way. With a large part of the region between Montreuil and Étaples being swampland he had to turn towards La Calotterie first before he could join the main road near Beutin.

Though it was still early in the day, the sun shone already from a cloudless sky. The air shimmered around him, and he pulled his broad-brimmed hat down to shield his eyes. He chuckled to himself. He was not often this cheerful, but for one, he would spend the day with his daughter alone as Marius and M Delhomel would be in a meeting about a prospective Député seat, and the little Pontmercys would be under the care of the Delhomel’s children’s nounou. For another, it was already Saturday.

Valjean’s heart was light when he contemplated the hours he would have Cosette all to himself. She had asked for his advice on several items she wished to purchase for the local orphanage, and he was only too glad to accompany her around the shops.

~~~~~~~~~~

The moon was already visible in the dusk, as was the bright North Star, when Valjean returned. As always, the star reminded him that soon Javert would be here. It also reminded him that he had many things for which to be thankful. Much as Valjean was still delighted by the day, he was also weary.

He noticed a crockery pot on the cold stove. Raising its lid, he found that Marie-Thérèse had conscientiously forwarded his wish to her mother. Mme Richard had filled the pot with two pork sausages marinated in a hearty mustard sauce. Though the sauce covered the sausages’ pungent aroma, it would have been too much for tonight, so he carried the pan into the stone-built larder where everything would keep well until the next day, and from which the strong smell would not waft into his bedroom.

A mug of something hot was all he needed. He let the herbal infusion steep while readying himself for bed because he had to be up early if he wished to attend mass at the church in Montreuil’s _ville basse_ . He had led a secluded life in that part of the town more than fifteen years ago, but during his tenure as mayor he had been expected to attend Saint-Saulve next to the mairie and thus it was less likely that church-goers at Saint-Josse would recognize him from his years in the town.

The candle lit, and his watch, the bible and the mug of tea on his bedside table, Valjean knelt in front of the crucifix in the corner to give ample thanks. He searched for words: he had spent many hours with Cosette, just the two of them. He recalled the light in the eyes of the children when new clothes and food were brought to Étaples’ orphanage. He still heard the thanks for his donation towards its upkeep.

Therefore he thanked the Lord for having given him and his daughter the means to help. His family was well. The Lord willing, he would attend mass tomorrow morning, and on Monday his inspector would arrive. Valjean’s heart was filled with joy, so much so that his knees protested when he heaved himself up after his lengthy prayers. He went to bed, feeling like a little boy close to his birthday. He only had to wake twice more until Javert joined him in La Madelaine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> To Chrissy24601 for encouragement and handholding.  
> My thanks to Groucha and Iberiandoctor for beta, suggestions and valued remarks.  
> More Notes:  
> 1\. Saint-Michel is a church at Étaples. It was destroyed in WWI. A new church was rebuilt on the same spot.  
> 2\. Song of Songs: _By night on my bed I was looking for him who is the love of my soul: I was looking for him, but I did not see him._  
>  3\. Bréxent-Énocq is a village not far from Montreuil-sur-Mer  
> 4\. Cucq is a small town in the Nord-Pas-de-Calais.  
> 5\. Cosette sang Au Clair de la lune  
> 6\. anduilles or andouillettes  
> 7\. Beutin is a village about four miles from Montreuil-sur-Mer.  
> 8\. _Lower town_ Montreuil –sur-Mer is divided into a Higher and a Lower Town separated by the ramparts.  
>  9\. Saint-Saulve is the abbey church at Montreuil-sur-Mer  
> 10\. Mairie – townhall  
> 11\. Saint-Josse-au-Val, the church in the Lower Town: (site only in French)


	3. Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One Day More?

Valjean rose with the sun. He dressed with care, drank a glass of warm milk, ate a toasted slice of bread and set off for mass. He enjoyed the peace and quiet of this country morning. Numerous birds united for their contribution to the dawn chorus and a frog hopped across his way through the fields under the ramparts of the Citadelle. He had not felt this invigorated for some time.

Soon the curé of Saint-Josse-au-Val greeted him at the door. Valjean did not recognize him, so the man must have assumed his duties after ‘M Madeleine’ decided to leave for Arras.

“Monsieur Fauchelevent, I presume?” The priest looked at him with an open face.

“Mon père.” Valjean took off his hat, smiling. “I believe we have not met before?”

“The good woman, Madame Richard, mentioned that an elderly gentleman from Paris was in La Madelaine for his vacations, and I have not seen you amongst my flock before.” The man regarded him kindly. “I hope I have not trespassed?”

“Not at all, mon père.” Valjean was all bonhomie. “She is a generous woman, and a valuable pillar of the parish, I make no doubt. Always ready to offer help without needing to be prompted.”

The two men regarded each other with mutual understanding. Unkind souls might have called Mme Richard a meddling busybody, when she only ever meant well. Sometimes she was a bit overwhelming in the kindness of her heart.

Valjean went into the church, hat in hand. At the holy-water font, he touched two fingers of his right to the water and crossed himself. After having bowed towards the cross, he looked around. Choosing a pew at the back, he sat close to the wall because he had spotted his neighbours in one of the front rows and did not wish them to see him.

His head remained bowed during service. The familiar rituals of standing, sitting or kneeling with the congregation calmed his mind. Once more, he brought forth his thanks in his prayers and felt much uplifted after the sermon.

Having received the blessing at the end of the service, he waited in his pew, looking down and to the side until everyone had filed out. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw that his neighbours passed without noticing him. Mme Richard was too busy chatting with a black-dressed matron, while M Richard and a grave, elderly man walked quietly behind the women.

Valjean was relieved; the Richards might have felt inclined to offer him a ride home in their dog and cart otherwise, and he would not have liked to be rude and refuse. He rather preferred the short walk through the fields so he could be alone with his thoughts.

With his hat in his hand, Valjean had to shield his eyes from the sun when he walked out of the church. Then he bowed to the priest at its gate. “Mon père.” They shook hands. “I appreciated your words, and will carry them with me. Thank you.”

“Have a blessed Sunday, my son.” The curé smiled and then leaned towards Valjean, speaking quietly. “That tall officer across the street. Would he be the friend to join you on vacation?” The priest slightly jerked his head in the direction.

“Officer?” It could not be, surely. Javert would arrive tomorrow.

“Well, so straight-backed - his posture that of a soldier. The cane at his side as if it were a musket - and Madame Richard had mentioned -”

Valjean had composed himself enough for a brief look towards the other side of the street. He sucked in his breath, quickly masking it as a cough. It took all his strength to keep his composure and not rush across the street without a proper acknowledgement. “Indeed, it is he.” With an, “If you will excuse me?” Valjean hurried off, the priest’s “The Lord be with you, my son,” wafting after him.

They were facing each other for what seemed like the longest time.

“Javert.” Valjean breathed the name. He raised one hand as if to caress Javert’s face.

The inspector intercepted the hand halfway and shook it firmly, his eyes sending a warning. He murmured, “Not here, when the curé is watching.” After all, they were in public, and in broad daylight.

“It is a lovely day for a walk.” Valjean could not keep the smile out of his voice completely.

“Lead the way then.” Javert’s eyes twinkled in his otherwise impassive face. They bowed gravely to each other for the sake of anyone looking on, and after Valjean had put on his hat, walked towards the path winding its way down the ramparts. They presented the perfect picture of two elderly, dignified men on a Sunday stroll.

On their way Valjean would have slipped on some pebbles had not Javert steadied him. To prevent a similar occurrence, the inspector offered his arm, and Valjean accepted, not least because it brought welcome intimacy.  


“Javert?” Valjean squeezed the navy-clad arm. “How? Why?”

His companion paused to regard him. “You would be at mass this morning. I figured you would not be at Saint-Saulve where people might still have recognized you. I also recalled that you lived in the lower town then. As to ‘why’? Paris held no attraction for me -” Javert tilted his head. “- so I worked to finish the reports a day early to catch the overnight diligence.” A fine blush rose to his cheeks. “I had no wish for another day without you.”

Valjean would have kissed Javert there and then, had they not been out in the fields in plain view of others, even when it was unlikely that someone else would be taking a stroll in the midday sun. He contented himself with caressing a trimmed whisker with the back of his hand and running a finger along the coat’s collar. Greatly daring, Valjean briefly rested his brow on Javert’s shoulder.

“Let us continue to the house.” Lips grazed his brow to press a short dry kiss to his temple.

Valjean drew back, searching Javert’s face. “Such a long coach ride you had. It cannot have been comfortable, and you have certainly not slept well, if at all. A rest is what you need.” He spoilt the effects of his grave words by smirking like an urchin.

“I do feel tired.” The gleam in Javert’s eyes belied his words. “I would also like to rid myself of the dust and shift into something more suitable for this weather.”

“Knowing you, you have not had anything decent to eat either in the past days,” remarked Valjean, the corner of his mouth lifting in mirth.

“And this coming from you!” Javert shot him a sideway-glance. “You are not exactly gorging yourself either, mon Jean.” His tone held a hint of amusement, but his expression remained serious while he slowly scrutinized Valjean from head to foot.

“Leave it be, bien-aimé.” Valjean shook his head. “We are both not good when it comes to regular meals.” He squeezed Javert’s arm again, smiling his apology.

The inspector patted Valjean’s hand.

“It is not far now.” Valjean pointed out the low farmhouses of La Madelaine. “- and a couple of Madame Richard’s andouilles are waiting for you.”

At their mention Javert’s left eyebrow rose, but he refrained from a comment.

“They are an acquired taste, I know, but together with fresh baguette and a glass of vin du pays, they will go down well.” Valjean’s lips twitched at his companion’s reaction, and he pointed out. “They are in a spicy herbs and mustard sauce.”

“Thank heaven for small mer -“ Javert caught himself. “- for a fine marinade. It ever enhances the taste.” He muttered under his breath, "- and hides the strong smell." Valjean pretended not to have heard it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Monsieur Fauchelevent!” Mme Richard was at the farm gate. “A blessed Sunday to you.” She beamed at them good-naturedly, but the question she did not ask was evident in her voice.

“Thank you, and to you and your family.” Valjean inclined his head. “My friend has arrived, as you can see.” He turned towards Javert, but did not venture his name.

“Madame Richard?” Before the farmer’s wife was able to reply, the inspector had raised his hat to her. “Monsieur Fauchelevent has already praised your sausages. He invited me to try them tonight.” Javert’s suave words carried conviction.

Valjean reflected that though still unable to lie, his inspector was now able to give the impression that what he said was a compliment.

Mme Richard wordlessly curtseyed to the inspector, dumbstruck.

It was clear to Valjean that she reacted to Javert’s deep, resonant voice and its inflexion of absolute authority. He hid his smile, reflecting that over the past seven years he had come to enjoy witnessing this effect of Javert on people. Over thirty years ago he had felt it in himself when the inspector was still an adjutant-guard at Toulon.

“I shall send some more andouilles over then, Monsieur -? Maybe a pitcher of my husband’s bière de garde to go with them? ” The farmer’s wife had found her voice again and regarded the tall man at Valjean’s side.

“You are very kind, but we must not deprive your family of the fruits of your cooking.” As the older man had previously done, Javert passed over her question about his name. He spoke with consideration, at the same time making it clear that she had better not press the matter.

After a quick glance at Javert, Valjean injected, “A jar of your beer will be most welcome at some other time, if you do not mind. Your cherry tarte, though?” tempering his inspector’s severity. He hid a small grin. Javert and diplomacy had never gone well together. He leaned towards Mme Richard. “Only if it is not too much trouble.”

She simpered. “No trouble at all. I will prepare one for you and Monsieur -” she tilted her chin at the younger man, “- tomorrow afternoon, if it pleases you?”

“I see what M Fauchelevent meant when he spoke highly of your generosity.” Javert inclined his head, which earned him a delighted smile.

“But now, we must not keep you any longer. Please convey my regards to your husband.” By this time Valjean was done with diplomacy. He wanted nothing more than welcome Javert properly. Both men bowed to Mme Richard, who wished them a pleasant afternoon. Her skirts twirling, she bustled back to the main house, where she turned to bob a curtsey in their direction before vanishing into her kitchen.

Valjean shut the front door behind them, momentarily forgetting to turn the key.

“Javert.” He attempted to draw his companion close by the dark blue coat lapels but the man retreated a few steps, leaning his cane into the near corner. Valjean’s smile faltered in confusion, suddenly beset by doubt.

“Jean.” The inspector’s voice was gentle and full of contrition. Valjean realized that Javert had his own reason for stepping away.

Javert took one of the outstretched hands between his gloved fingers, gently brushing a thumb over gnarled knuckles. Then he bent and reverently kissed them before he again stepped back. “Let me, please -” He placed his hat on the small side table in front of a mirror, hung up his coat on the near coat-rack, and then pulled his summer gloves off.

Valjean watched, mesmerized, as Javert plucked at each finger, drawing at the gloves’ tips, stripping the tight-fitting kidskin gradually off his hands. He was delighted to see his friend wear the present Valjean had given him last Christmas; usually the inspector was hesitant about wearing what he considered too valuable.

Javert dropped the gloves into the tall hat, and then leaned against the door to keep it firmly closed. He held out his arms.

Valjean took the few steps and felt himself gathered into a firm embrace. He pressed against the wide chest, resting his head on Javert’s shoulder. Against his brow he felt his friend’s strong neck pulse. Its steady beat and the familiar arms holding him were a comfort.

He craned his head to whisper an endearment against soft skin, but anything he wished to say was cut short by moist lips expressing not passion but love. Only too willingly, Valjean gave himself up to the feeling. Strong back muscles rippled under his grip. To have Javert near sent life rushing through Valjean’s veins and eased his mind. Their almost two-week separation had brought it home to him how much Javert had become a beloved part of his life.

Admittedly, his dearest Cosette had shown him what it meant to care and be cared for, but Javert had become his mainstay. “You are a constant source of strength to me,” Valjean said when finally they broke the kiss, turning his head so Javert’s lips could nuzzle against his temple.

“As you are to me.” The inspector smiled and continued holding Valjean in his arms.

“Speaking of strength, you must be famished by now. There will still be some embers in the stove, and bread, cheese and Madame Richard’s sausages will fill your belly.” Valjean drew back, pleased to see the corners of Javert’s eyes crinkle with amusement.

“Yes, mon Jean. Our bellies.” In that moment, Javert resembled more a gamin than a serious inspector (first class). “And while you see to our meal, I will rid myself of the dust and shift my clothes.”

“Your trunk is in the bedroom to the right.” Valjean pointed towards the narrow hall. “I also put in a pitcher of water, soap and towels this morning.”

“Thankee.” After a small peck on Valjean’s cheek, Javert turned toward the bedroom.

Valjean had also changed into something less formal while the sausages were heating on the stove. The air in the kitchen blurred from the sun shining in, so he pulled the front curtains close. Javert would appreciate the shade, even when the air in the house continued to be stifling.

Valjean laid the table. Then he sat down at the table that now groaned under everything that had been in the larder, two small glasses of wine and a large jug of water included. Knives and forks lay beside a small stack of earthenware plates. The sausages still sizzled in their pan when he set it on a folded tea towel.

“You wish to feed the Five Thousand? The table holds everything I could ever need, apart from you.” The sonorous voice from the doorway made Valjean look up. His cheeks warmed at Javert’s words.

“That blush becomes you.” Teasing amusement made Valjean redden even more. A calloused fingertip caressed the side of his face from his temple down his jaw.

Valjean noticed that Javert had brushed his – still long – hair. It was no longer held back by the regulation black ribbon, but by another present given on the day they regarded as Javert’s birthday: a black velvet band with a tiny embroidered star in one corner.

The inspector wore a linen shirt, comfortable navy trousers and a matching waistcoat. He had rolled back his sleeves, which gave Valjean time to linger on sinewy forearms. Valjean imagined running a hand over the tanned skin to feel the brush of fine hairs in his palm. Instead, he gestured to the seat opposite, then uncovered the pan and ladled one of the andouilles and several spoons of the bubbling mustard sauce onto a plate.

Javert inhaled. “Those sausages have not changed much. It’s been a long time since I had one of those.” He broke off a chunk of bread and dabbed it in the sauce. “But the marinade is savoury. I see what you mean about Madame Richard’s cooking.”

For several moments they ate in silence, when Valjean noticed that Javert had only had two small slices of his sausage and rather chosen bread and sauce instead.

“Not hungry?” He could not keep the concern from his voice.

Javert looked at him, his lips twitching. “It is a bit too much, after not having – ” He caught himself.

“After not having - eaten since yesterday?” Valjean put down his knife.

Javert took one of Valjean’s hands in his. “You know my usual breakfast of coffee with a piece of baguette. So, do not worry, please.” He brushed his thumb gently over Valjean’s fingers.

Then he leaned across the table and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “Truth be told, andouilles were never my favourites, not even when I lived here. But then, I could not have affor –.” Again he stopped, but again, Valjean had heard what had not been said.

“You could not have afforded them. Is that it?” Valjean bit his lip. So many things he had not known then. “Why did you not say? The town would have raised your wages.” He searched his companion’s face.

“You mean, Monsieur le maire would have paid from his own pocket?” Javert nodded to himself. “Don’t deny it,” he continued when Valjean looked like a boy caught with his finger in a honey jar. “You know I would not have taken it then.”

Valjean sipped from his wine and did not reply, knowing what Javert said to be the truth.

“But, there is something you can take from _me_ now.” The inspector pursed his lips. “The sausage tastes much better than it smells, but - will you take the rest of mine? Please?”

Valjean’s momentary melancholy dissipated when, over the rim of his glass, he saw Javert’s eyes sparkle.

Valjean sighed, nodding, and pushed his plate across the table so Javert could pass the rest of his sausage over. “Have at least some of the cheese, and a slice or two of the smoked ham.” He gestured at the apricots. “They are from the market in Étaples.”

“Then, if I must, I must.” Javert selected one of them, before cutting himself a wedge of cheese. He halved the apricot, and declared it delicious. He finished his meal with acacia honey dripped on a morsel of bread. When he noticed that Valjean was watching him, he locked gazes with him before he licked a dollop of honey slowly from a finger, taking care to wrap his tongue around it languidly, sucking as if he did not want to miss the tiniest sticky spot.

Valjean chewed at his lower lip. Suddenly it seemed even hotter in the kitchen than it had been before. It must be, because heat rose from his neck to his face; he felt the fast heartbeat in the hollow of his throat.

Only when Javert had finished lapping up the honey, did Valjean find his voice again. “So glad you liked the apricot.” He cleared his throat. “Cosette bought them fresh yesterday.” His cheeks were burning by now. Valjean could hardly look at the man across the table.

“The overnight journey has been draining.” Javert inclined his head seriously. “I hope you will not take it amiss if I lie down for an hour or two?” 

“I, too, feel like reposing.” Valjean walked around the table. “None of us is as young as we used to be.”

On his chair Javert turned sideways and spread his thighs enough for Valjean to step between them. Valjean reached behind his inspector’s head and plucked the ribbon open.

“Let me.” Javert took it out of Valjean’s hand. “Hold out your wrist.” He tied the band around it with a bow. “I would not like to lose it.” Then he turned Valjean’s hand over and brushed a kiss into the open palm.

Leaning forward, he relaxed against Valjean’s chest. He closed his eyes when strong fingers ruffled his hair, spreading it across his shoulder. They stayed like this for some time.

“We’d better clean up here, or else -” Valjean kissed the crown of Javert’s head before he took a few steps back.

“ - we will never get our nap.” Javert smirked at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> To Chrissy24601 for encouragement and handholding.  
> My thanks to Groucha and Iberiandoctor for beta, suggestions and valued remarks.  
> More Notes:  
> 1\. Remparts and Citadel  
> 2.Bière de Garde  
> 


	4. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obstacles in paradise

Javert washed his hands under the kitchen pump, dried them on a towel, and then turned around. One look from him, and Valjean went willingly into the open arms. They remained in each other’s embrace until Valjean broke away, grinning impishly. “It is providential that you arrived today, because the children will arrive tomorrow to, as Cosette put it, celebrate your arrival.”

Their lips were just about to meet when there was a crash at the front door and they jerked apart quickly.

“Papypapy!” Two children’s voices shrilled through the house. Steps clattered across the hall, the door burst open, and Valjean’s grand-children all but fell into the kitchen.

Four big eyes looked astonished at the two men standing so close together. The boy and the girl struggled up. They hindered each other more than helping before they rushed towards Javert, cheering “Grand-père!” with delight. They threw their slender arms around the inspector’s knees so hard that he nearly lost his balance and had to cling to the sink for purchase.

“Papa, have we surprised you?” Cosette rounded the door. “We tried out the walk on your map and -” She stood rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on first Javert, to wander down to Valjean’s wrist. The older man followed her gaze and cringed. She had noticed the ribbon and probably put two and two together. Without batting an eye-lid, she called towards the front-door. “Marius! Isn’t it wonderful? Javert has arrived a day early.” 

This gave the two men enough time to straighten their waist-coats and compose themselves.

Despite his embarrassment at the situation, Valjean’s heart warmed when he saw Javert bend for the two ‘clinging vines’ at his feet. Both children slung their arms around Javert’s strong neck. They were scooped up, one on each arm, and Javert left with them for the garden.

“Why is your hair not braided?” Small fingers threaded through Javert’s hair, getting caught in the long mane. 

“I was about to comb it out after my long journey.” The inspector handed the boy to Marius and caught the little female hand, carefully disentangling it from the strands.

“And why has Papy your ribbon?” Big brown eyes regarded him quizzically.

Javert sighed. “So it does not get crumpled.”

“Why is it around his wrist?”

“So it does not get lost.” The deep voice grew sterner, and another question died on the inquisitive child’s lips.

Valjean heard her giggle and noticed her lean her head into the crook of Javert’s neck. She had already learned not to try the inspector’s temper. Not before long the girl was heard again.

“Grand-père?”

“Hm?”

“I can tie a bow. Maman showed me.” She piped up once more, undaunted. “Can I put it in your hair?”

Valjean snorted, but quickly averted his gaze from Javert’s, only to meet Cosette’s. His daughter had a hand over her mouth, trying to suppress her laughter.

The afternoon passed quickly enough. In the garden the children rushed around merrily, excitedly showing them their latest findings: now an earth worm, now a beetle.

“You did not walk all the way, did you?” Valjean looked at Cosette, once he had finished admiring a twig with a couple of ants on it.

“Antoine set us down at the wooden bridge you marked on your map.” Marius spoke from the open kitchen door, which lead into the garden. Cosette turned and held out her hand to her husband. She continued. “He then returned to our house for the picnic we had asked to be prepared and packed.” She turned towards the older men. “It was Marius’ idea.”

Soon after, the Pontmercy coach arrived, laden with delicacies from the Delhomel kitchen. These were spread out on the old garden table close to the bench under the tree. Marius asked Antoine to fetch them several of the kitchen chairs. 

After that, the horses needed to be checked and cared for. Once this task was finished, the coachman retired to a place in the shade of another alder that was closer to one of the boundary drains. Since he was a favourite with the children, they soon wandered over to where he was, forgetting all about food and their favourite fruit syrup to clamber all over him. He had his hands full to keep them from falling into the drain.

“Antoine.” Marius called to him.

The coachman shepherded the children towards the group of adults. He dipped his head to Marius. “Monsieur?”

“The children would surely like to see how the horses are. Would you not?” Marius looked at the little ones. They loved the animals, and never missed a chance to see them. Antoine took them to the coach near the shed where they continued to play under his watchful eyes. Their voices carried on the breeze as they asked question after question that he answered patiently.

“Come, Papa, you must try a slice of the apricot tarte.” Cosette patted Valjean’s arm. “It was made fresh only this morning.”

The older man shook his head. “Thank you, dearest. I am already filled to the brim. Just before you arrived, we had hot sausages and cheese. Javert also had some of the apricots you bought.”

“At least try some of the honey from the Delhomel estate on a piece of baguette.”

“Ah, well…” Valjean remembered how Javert had eaten bread and honey only about an hour ago. He was grateful that his daughter was occupied preparing some slices so she did not notice his blush spreading fast.

“Javert might like some.” Valjean thought he should not be the only one to suffer, so he nudged the man next to him.

Marius and Javert had been engrossed in some of the non-classified aspects of the inspector’s recent work; Javert started when Valjean’s elbow touched his side. He turned, one eyebrow on the rise.

“Have something from the Delhomel’s gardens?” Valjean regarded his inspector with wide innocent eyes as Cosette held out the plate with chunks of baguette generously covered with honey to all three men.

“How lovely of you, my angel.” Marius took out his handkerchief. With a “May I?” he reached across for an offered piece. “The honey is really delicious. We’ve had it every morning for breakfast.” He smiled at his wife.

Javert briefly shaded his eyes as if he did not wish to meet Valjean’s gaze and addressed Cosette instead. “Only this morning I had several of those apricots you bought.” He sighed. “They were more than enough for me, so please, do not take it badly -.” He shook his head, though it was not clear if it was at Cosette or at Valjean.

“Then may I have another one?” Marius took a larger piece of baguette and honey, being as oblivious as his wife to the colour that tinged the older men’s faces.

“You really should eat more, both of you.”Cosette regarded them, but could not keep up her stern attitude when Javert kissed the back of his hand to her in an old-fashioned gesture of respectful affection.

The garden continued to be filled with merry conversations and children’s laughter, so nobody paid attention to the passing of time.

“Ma petite.” Valjean leaned towards his daughter when the shadows grew longer.

“Papa?” She threaded one hand under his arm, while she held her little boy securely in the crook of her own. He had fallen asleep in her lap a while ago.

“Javert took the overnight diligence to be here, and – “

“ – you are concerned that he is tired but will not say so because we are still here?” Valjean had to hand it to his astute daughter. He nodded.

Cosette said, “Well, it is getting late and the children are tired. It is better for them to sleep in their beds. We will leave the rest of the food here so you can have it for tomorrow?”

“You are being very kind, my dear, and lenient with two old men.” Valjean smiled at her.

“I heard what you just said.” Javert tilted his head towards Valjean. “Not so much of the old, if you please.” His voice held no reprimand.

“I only explained that you had been travelling all the past night.” Under the guise of the lengthening shadows Valjean placed his hand between them on the bench, tracing the trouser seam along Javert’s thigh with gentle pressure. His finger was briefly covered and squeezed by a larger hand.

Cosette indicated to Marius that it was time to leave, and once he had washed his honey-sticky hands under the garden pump, he helped her and Antoine clear everything away. The chairs were returned to the kitchen, the coach was made ready.

“We will see you shortly, won’t we?” The young woman rounded on Valjean and Javert. They could only nod meekly under her stern gaze. Their agreement secured, Cosette handed the small boy to her husband and climbed in first to settle the little girl on one of the seats. She alighted again to bid farewell affectionately. First, she raised herself on tiptoes to kiss Javert on the side of his face. Then she leaned her cheek against Valjean’s, whispering into his ear something that made him blush.

She winked at her papa before Antoine helped her into the coach. Taking the small boy from Marius, she waited for her husband to bid his proper fare-wells and climb into the carriage. Moments later they were bowling along the narrow path towards the road that would return them to their holiday home.

“What did she say?” Javert tilted his head to the side.

“She was adamant to see us on Tuesday.”

“And that brought colour to your face?”

Valjean harrumphed. “She might have mentioned that I should make certain you _relaxed_. Oh, and she wished us a _pleasant_ night.”

”Never in life.” The inspector shot back, shaking his head disbelievingly. “She cannot have said that.”

“She did.”

Javert’s eyes widened. Now he was the one to turn pink.

They stood silently, for a moment lost for words. The air was peaceful, carrying the faint melodies of cricket chirps from the fields and the hoots of a lonely owl from the nearby woods.

Valjean looked across the narrow way to the lumbering building silhouetted against the evening sky. All doors and gates seemed firmly shut for the night, only the dim light of candles shone through curtains drawn across the farm’s windows.

When he turned his attention back to the man by his side, the light from the stars illuminated Javert’s eyes, and what he saw made Valjean swallow. It was an expression of unguarded love, highlighted when Javert entwined their fingers.

Very nearly unmanned, Valjean threw all caution to the wind, extricated himself from the firm grasp and framed Javert’s face in his hands, drawing the head down for a kiss. His tongue traced the outline of his companion’s mouth, and he sucked gently upon Javert’s lower lip.

As if suddenly becoming aware that they were still outside and would have been in full view were they not sheltered by the shadows of the night, they drew apart reluctantly. Valjean’s arm under Javert’s they walked slowly back to the house, Once there, the doors were securely barred behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Chrissy24601 for encouragement and handholding.
> 
> My thanks to Groucha and Iberiandoctor for beta, suggestions and valued remarks


	5. Nightfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Their Own

Valjean puffed up his pillows and slid under the back-turned covers. He had left his bedroom door open, and could hear rummaging from across the hallway. He bit his lip as he really wanted to call out that Javert should bring the hair brush with him, but decided against it.

By now, his inspector would only be wanting to sleep and not have his hair attended to. Running his fingers through those long strands of salt-and-pepper was one of Valjean’s guilty pleasures. He reasoned that other opportunities would present themselves in the coming weeks to indulge himself, as long as Javert let him.

He settled against the headboard, feeling inexplicably shy. They had not seen each other for two weeks, and now he was feeling much like he had on their first night together. The memory of their intimacy just before the children had burst in today rose to the surface and told him there was no need for his nervousness.

To divert his mind he unfolded his glasses and reached for the scripture. The book fell open at the well-read poem, and, thumbing through it, he found its seventh song ‘Je suis à mon bien-aimé, Et ses désirs se portent vers moi.’ It calmed him enough to speak his evening prayers and give thanks for the day, most of all for Javert’s safe arrival. 

“So thoughtful?” Javert leaned in the doorway, one of his pillows in hand, as if uncertain to come in.

With his hair open to his shoulders, Javert looked wholly desirable to Valjean, dressed in the wide nightshirt that covered his tall frame down to the calves.

“Mon bien-aimé a passé la main par la fenêtre, Et mes entrailles se sont émues pour lui.” Smiling, Valjean put the bible away and stretched out his hand.

“As I am moved for you.” Javert padded to the empty left side of the bed, placed his pillow at the headboard and threw back the covers. Quickly he slid under them and moved over, crowding in on Valjean to stroke back a wayward white curl. 

Valjean closed his eyes and rubbed the side of his face against Javert’s palm, giving himself up to the sensation of warm skin on his cheek. Lips brushed the corner of his mouth, and he opened it willingly to Javert’s tongue.

Their breaths mingled, their touches gentle and without urgency. When Javert withdrew for air, he rested his cheek on the crown of Valjean’s head.

Valjean traced a line from Javert’s temple, along his - now shorter – whiskers, down a strong jawline. His finger came to rest at the side of the neck where it throbbed with Javert’s heartbeat. After a moment, Javert murmured, “Jean?”

“Hm?”

“It was good to see the children again.” Javert nuzzled at his companion’s hairline.

“So it was.” The smile could be heard in Valjean’s voice.

“But –“

“Yes?”

“The little ones wore me out.” Javert whispered before he pressed his lips to Valjean’s temple.

“Tired?”

In reply to that question, Javert slid down on the bed. Valjean understood perfectly. He turned, tucked the blankets around his own shoulder. His back against the length of Javert’s body, he drew one of his friend’s arms around his waist, securing Javert’s hand over his heart.

A wide chest rose and fell against his shoulders; strong muscles pressed against his thighs, bony kneecaps touched the hollow of his knees. Valjean felt Javert pull him closer, and he silently welcomed the much-missed feeling of being enfolded by his companion. It gave him all the comfort he needed.

“Bien-aimé.” He gently raised the hand on his chest to his lips, pressing a small kiss to each fingertip. “Sleep well and be rested in the morning.”

He felt Javert raise his head, then dry lips caressed Valjean’s outer ear. “May the angels guard your sleep.”

The older man chortled to himself, and whispered “No need because you are here, my very own Saint Michael.”

Javert huffed, and bit the side of Valjean’s earlobe gently, “Hush now, mon Jean,” clasping his companion closer still.

Soon, only deep breaths could be heard, from the two men now asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is so short. But they fell asleep.
> 
> Notes
> 
> To Chrissy24601 for encouragement and handholding.
> 
> My thanks to Groucha and Iberiandoctor for beta, suggestions and valued remarks
> 
> More Notes:
> 
> Song of Songs: _I am for my loved one, and his desire is for me._
> 
> Song of Songs: _My loved one put his hand on the door, and my heart was moved for him._


	6. Early one Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...just as the sun was rising

Valjean surfaced from sleep, his leg between Javert’s thighs, his nose and left cheek pressed against soft cambric, feeling the deep rise and fall of the wide chest underneath. The corners of his mouth turned up at the sound of soft snores, which told him that his companion was still fast asleep.

He raised himself carefully up on his elbow and, in the dim morning light, regarded the man at his side. He never tired of watching Javert sleep. His inspector’s face was relaxed, his forehead smoothed, all trace of stress and age gone apart from the frown line between his eyebrows and the small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

The whiskers had been trimmed shorter a while ago, but the full hair with several small streaks of white was still long, and Valjean knew that it was soft to the touch. Strands of it partially veiled the side of Javert’s face, but did not obscure the long eye lashes fanning out towards the cheeks. Valjean longed to brush the hair aside, to caress the outer shell of an ear, to run his fingers down the side of the strong neck, all the while feeling the pulse visible under Javert’s skin. 

Instead, Valjean placed a hand hesitantly over Javert’s heart, not wishing to disturb the man’s sleep, even though he could not resist the temptation to feel the strong beat under his palm. 

When Javert’s breathing did not change, Valjean slid his hand down Javert’s nightshirt to the middle, where he could feel still firm stomach muscles. He rubbed in languid circles, taking care not to use too much pressure and making certain that he did not disturb his companion.

Then his hand gradually strayed further down. So concentrated was he that he did not notice the slight change in Javert’s breathing until it was too late. He would have snatched his hand away like someone caught red-handed, had not long fingers clasped and held it firmly in place.

“Don’t do anything I would not do,” rumbled a soft, deep voice.

When Valjean looked up, he met Javert’s dark eyes, the spark of amusement clearly visible in them. He stretched up, helped by fingers that cupped the back of his head, drawing him close into a kiss. When they had to draw apart, Valjean gasped. “Believe me I won’t.” The joy of finally being together undisturbed and well-rested turned them into men youthful with mischief.

“Well then, mon Jean, the morning is still young and we are alone.” Javert’s fingers were already busy with the fastenings of Valjean’s nightshirt, while Valjean’s hand slid across a protruding hip, his fist bunching up the cambric to ruck it up for easier access.

“Let me, please.” Valjean sent one of their quilts sliding to the floor, fitting himself against Javert, skin to skin, fanning the heat that rose between their bodies with his hands until the room was filled with murmurs and soft sighs.

The sharp cry of “Jean” was quickly smothered by Valjean’s mouth descending onto Javert’s lips.

Shortly after, Valjean went slack across his companion, both of them sated and at peace. When Valjean tried to move off and to the side, he was arrested by a firm hand on the small of his back. 

“Stay.” Javert spread his legs to accommodate Valjean’s body between his thighs. He grabbed for the remaining blanket, and then drew Valjean into his arms, pulling the blanket over them both. Valjean relaxed in the embrace as Javert dropped a drowsy kiss against his hair. 

“Bien-aimé?”

“Hm?” Javert was already half-asleep.

“This summer will be good for us.” Valjean rubbed his cheek across his companion’s shoulder.

“ ‘n gentle…like you.”

Then the room grew silent again.

Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Chrissy24601 for encouragement and handholding.
> 
> My thanks to Groucha and Iberiandoctor for beta, suggestions and valued remarks.


End file.
